


Outlaw Cafe

by thunderbolts_no



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Artist Clarke, Barista AU, Barista Murphy, F/M, Historian Bellamy, M/M, Mentions of Gang Activity, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Swearing, cafe owner atom, false accusation, flower shop owner lexa, gang member lincoln, hacker monty, high schooler octavia, lots of swearing, photographer miller, stoner jasper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderbolts_no/pseuds/thunderbolts_no
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy is a college dropout and the barista at the local grunge coffee shop, Outlaw Cafe. When a murder happens in the alley behind the cafe and he's the prime suspect, Murphy teams up with Sawyer, a transfer student studying law, Miller, a photography student who works down the road, Monty, a drug addict with a huge IQ, Raven, a feminist barista, and Bellamy Blake, a yogurt store owner with an obsession with history, to save his ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The smell of ground coffee beans and the sound of heavy metal rock bands are the only things John Murphy wants to be around at 4 in the morning. Actually, they’re the only things he wants to be around at all, but that's not possible. Not when he has a job to do.

Working at the Outlaw Cafe was the only thing Murphy didn’t quit when he found out his foster mother died of cancer. His real mother was a joke, a distant memory from his early childhood, he’d never known his real dad, but the woman who took him in when he was 12 and raised him even though she was widow and held 2 jobs was the closest thing he had to family. And when she died the world stopped. He quit college, changed his cell number, moved into a new apartment, did anything and everything he could to get away from the grief. He didn’t quit Outlaw Cafe though, he could never quit it.

The cafe only opened at 5, but Murphy loved getting there early. He loved blasting obscure punk rock music on the speakers, he loved making himself cups of straight up black coffee, he loved wiping down the stained and dented mahogany tables, he loved pulling the coffee beans out of the back and letting them sit, their aroma filling up the entire room. He loved everything about Outlaw.

After about his 4th cup of coffee on the morning of September 7th, Murphy checked his watch. It was 4:59. Time to open up shop. Murphy dialed the music down and headed towards the front door, key in hand.

Miller was already standing outside the door with his camera bag slung over his shoulder, a beanie covering his head, and his hands shoved in his pockets uncomfortably. Miller, whose first name had never been told to Murphy, was a regular at Outlaw. He worked the graveyard shift at the gas station on the corner, and Outlaw was the only coffee shop that opened this early in the morning.

By the time Miller was sitting at the counter, Murphy had already placed a chocolate muffin in front of him. Miller bit into it ravenously as Murphy brewed the first official cup of coffee for the day.

“Tough night at work?” Murphy commented as he placed the double shot of espresso with milk in front of Miller’s half eaten muffin.

“Drunk kids came in at around 2 and tried to by 3 bottles of whiskey with 5 bucks,” Miller took a long sip and coughed, “They were also underage. Ran off when I threatened to call the cops.” Miller took a bite of the muffin.

“What classes do you have today?” Murphy wiped down the other end of the counter as Miller ate. The counter separated Murphy from the customer more than just physically, he found it easier to talk to them with the distance. He wasn't took good with the up close and personal stuff.

“My photography lecture starts in an hour,” Miller got out between bites, “Keep the change.” And then he was gone, the muffin reduced to a pile of crumbs on a napkin and the coffee drained, a $10 bill on the table.

That’s what Murphy liked about Miller. He made small talk, but didn’t talk too much. He just ate, drank, answered Murphy’s questions, and left, leaving a tip of about $2.50. And he was the only person Murphy never gave sass to. He felt it was unfair to mess with a guy who spent his nights in a gas station.

Murphy pocketed the 10, cleared the napkin and crumbs, dumping them in the trash, and put the coffee cup in the sink. Then he brewed himself another cup as he waited for his next customer. Most people didn’t get up this early to get coffee from a Starbucks knockoff, which meant that Murphy could drink all the coffee he wanted as long as he could pay for it. He couldn’t turn the music up again, Atom, the owner of the shop, wouldn’t allow him to blast tunes during working hours.

Clarke Griffin, a regular, was the next customer to walk through the door. Murphy groaned internally at the sight of her blonde head as she pushed open the door and hid his half-finished coffee cup behind the counter.

“Morning Murphy,” Clarke smiled brightly and sat down in a chair at one of the tables, folding her paint-covered hands on the mahogany surface.

“Mornin’” Murphy grunted, wiping down a section of the counter before looking at her, “The usual I’m guessing?”

“Of course,” Clarke cocked her head to one side and smiled at him again before pulling out an art portfolio, “Do you want to see the new designs I’m working on? The college asked me to come and paint a mural on the new theater.” Clarke ran an art studio on a side street less than a block away from Outlaw. Murphy had never been, but apparently she was good. She’d lived in the apartment above the space since she was in college and opened the studio as a senior project a little over a year ago. She’d graduated from the college last June with a B.A. in Fine Arts.

“Not really,” Murphy muttered as he started making her usual order of black tea with a lemon slice in it.

“What was that?” Clarke looked at him sharply.

“I said not really,” Murphy grumbled at her, “But I don't really have a choice do I?”

“Nope,” Clarke laughed slightly, “You don’t.”

“Fine,” Murphy poured her tea into a cup, “Just let me finish with your tea.” He grabbed a slice of lemon from the fridge below the coffee maker.

He grabbed a croissant from the display case and put it on a plate before bringing it and the tea to Clarke, who was already immersed in her drawings.

“See, this is what I’m thinking of,” She pointed to different thespian symbols, “Coupled with this color scheme,” She pointed to a lot of pastel colors on the opposite page, “But I also really like this color for the theater walls, it would work well with the roof, but it doesn’t work with the color scheme.” Clarke flipped the page. Murphy nodded along, not really paying attention as she droned on about thespian symbols and color schemes. He honestly didn’t care, but he knew Clarke would hound him about it until he pretended to be even remotely interested, so he nodded along to whatever Clarke was saying.

When the bell at the front door dinged, meaning someone had entered the cafe, Murphy was more than happy to turn his attention away from the overly cheerful blonde.

“Hey,” Murphy nodded at the girl standing in the doorway as he moved behind the counter, “What can I get ya?” The girl was small and he’d never seen her around. He guessed she was a freshman at the college looking for some coffee before her first class. Probably thought this was some knockoff Starbucks place or something.

“Um, a Caffé Americano with a shot of vanilla please,” The girl said in a small voice, coming up to the counter but making no effort to sit down, “To go.” She was wearing a designer top, black leggings and carried a blue bag that looked plastic but was probably designer too.

Murphy rolled his eyes. “I have no fucking idea what that is, but I’ll do my best,” He grumbled, pressing a button on the coffee machine. Rich kids with their fancy clothes and weird coffee names were the worst type of people in his opinion. Coffee was coffee, not matter how fancily you dress it up, no matter how many shots of vanilla or caramel or mint you shove into it. And people who thought differently were idiots in his opinion.

But he still made the coffee anyway. Because it was his job. And because he liked making coffee.

“Oh, I thought this was Starbucks, but you know, with a different name so they don’t get all the hate,” The girl stared at him, wide eyed.

“Nope, this place is a freelance cafe,” Murphy informed her, pressing the button for vanilla on the coffee maker, “No Starbucks, but I brew the best coffee in town, if I do say so myself.” Yes, he was cocky. He liked being the best coffeemaker in the small college town, since he had nothing else going for him.

“Um, okay?” The girl shuffled her feet awkwardly.

“Here you go,” Murphy placed the paper coffee cup in the counter and tightened the lid on it, “One Cafe Vanilla Americano or whatever.”

“Thanks,” The girl grabbed the coffee cup and placed a 5 on the counter.

“No problem,” Murphy forced a smile as he handed her change and placed the 5, and the 10 from his pocket, in the register.

She left without a second look back.

“So, what do you think Murphy?” Clarke waved him back over to her. She’d already finished the croissant and her tea was pretty much gone, “This color scheme or this one?” She pointed to two groupings of colors.

“Um,” Murphy didn’t really care, but he knew Clarke wouldn’t like to hear that. He also knew she’d never leave him alone without an answer, “I don’t know. Whatever works best really.” He shrugged and grabbed the empty plate.

“Oh,” Clarke turned the page of the portfolio, “I guess so.” She didn't seem upset with Murphy’s answer. She actually seemed glad with the answer. Murphy couldn’t even guess why.

More people came in. More people wanted fancy coffee with weird names. More people turned up their noses at Murphy’s choice of music, but he didn’t care. Making coffee was the one thing he was good at, and not even the rich college kids who wanted Starbucks brand coffee could take that away from him.

“Can I have a nonfat iced caramel macchiato?” A guy with slicked back hair and a tie on asked, “I’ve been asking for about 5 minutes.”

“I know,” Murphy gave him a dead stare, “But I have no fucking clue what that is, so if you ask for it again I’ll reach across the counter and strangle you with your own necktie, understood?” He raised an eyebrow at the guy, “I’ll make you an iced coffee with caramel on top and nothing else, okay?”

“Okay,” The guy looked dead scared, but nodded anyway.

Murphy made him his coffee and took the $5 bill from the poor guy before he ran out of there. That was a typical conversation with the average customer Murphy dealt with, considering Murphy had no patience for fancy drink names and no one liked Murphy’s comments on them. Or the fact that he sometimes threatened them.

At around 7:45, the morning rush stopped. Classes began at 8 at the college, and since most of the customers at Outlaw were college students the rush naturally stopped a little before then. Clarke had left after about an hour of sitting in her seat, pouring over her portfolio and asking Murphy weird questions whenever she got the chance, to most he replied with, “Do I look like I fucking care?”

At 7:50, the cafe was completely empty. Murphy took the opportunity to grab his pack of cigarettes and head out front, to smoke and wait for Bellamy Blake to open his frozen yogurt place across the street. Bellamy Blake, the guy who’d had a problem with Outlaw Cafe since before Murphy had started working there, the guy who thought himself so much better than Murphy because he’d actually finished college, the guy who took any opportunity to make fun of Outlaw Cafe and the people what frequented it.

Murphy hated his guts. Murphy hated his guts more than he hated smoking, which was a lot. Didn’t stop him from smoking though. Smoking was an excuse to be outside of the cafe when Bellamy opened his place across the street, so he could yell at him for being such a dick. Smoking was also another way for Murphy to keep his mind occupied, since drinking coffee any chance he got and listening to obscure punk bands to keep himself above the rest of the human race. And it was an addiction he hadn’t been able to kick since he started it over 2 years ago.

Murphy had just finished his cigarette as Bellamy reached his front door. As he dropped it on the ground to put it out, he cupped his hands and yelled, “EAT SHIT AND DIE BLAKE!” Right at Bellamy. It was a tradition he kept up every day, except on weekend’s when the yogurt place was closed and Outlaw only opened at 9 in the morning.

“Fuck you Murphy,” Bellamy yelled back as Murphy slipped back inside the cafe.

From 8 to about 11:30, Murphy only dealt with around 5-7 customers. Most people had no need to be in a small, grungy cafe that played obscure music and whose barista was a total asshat during those times, especially not it a college town. He bantered with a few, giving them random orders instead of what they asked for because he didn't want to make a fucking iced green tea with a vanilla swirl or whatever.

Then came the lunch rush, and Raven Reyes.

Raven Reyes, the opinionated, loud, rude engineer student who hated everything about Outlaw but still cam every day because it was the best coffee in town. Although you wouldn’t think it was based on the amount of bitching she did about it.

Raven held the caramel mocha out to Murphy, “You poured the caramel in wrong again Murphy,” It was always the caramel, though she rotated her problems with it each day. It’s not sweet enough, it doesn’t look right, you poured it wrong.

“Drink it anyway,” Murphy moved to another customer who sat at the counter, “I don’t have time for your shit.” The guy, a college freshman in a letterman jacket, asked for a simple coffee which Murphy was more than happy to make for him.

“I’m not going to drink it if you don’t make it properly.” Raven crossed her arms and set the cup down on the counter angrily.

“Then you can shove that drink up your ass,” Murphy spat at her, making the coffee for the college guy, “But I’m still charging you for it.”

“What the hell?” Raven gave him a murderous stare, “I haven’t even taken a sip. And you can shove your comebacks up your own ass Murphy.”

“Still have to charge you,” Murphy sing-songed to her as he handed the college guy his coffee, “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” The college guy gave him a smile.

“There is no way I’m paying you for a coffee I didn’t even drink!” Raven yelled at him.

“It’s not my fault you’re not drinking it,” Murphy rolled his eyes, “All because of some stupid shit with the caramel!” The other customers paid no attention to them.

“Then fucking make it again!” Raven slammed a hand on the counter.

“Fine,” Murphy set his jaw, “But I’m charging you for two.”

“FUCKING HELL!” Raven screaming in response.

And it went on like that. Until Raven finally drank the coffee before storming out, leaving a $10 bill on the counter.

Murphy snickered and cleared away her coffee. She was so predictable, and so easy to piss off. It was kind of funny.

The lunch rush wasn’t really a lunch rush, since the cafe was so small and Murphy basically scared off any new customers who couldn’t handle a little sass, so it was usually about 12 or so people in the care at one time. Murphy could handle that amount by himself, which was why Atom never hired anyone else to work there. Besides, Murphy liked the solitude of being the only one behind the counter. It kept him different from the rest.

By the time the lunch rush ended that day, Murphy was rethinking the whole working by himself thing. There had been more people in here that usual, which was probably because the semester had just started and the freshman were looking for a place to hang, but from the looks Murphy had received when he mouthed off at a customer or made a rude comment or swore he knew not all of them would be coming back.

More people came and left the coffee shop that afternoon, until Murphy was so done dealing with people that he was anticipating the clock reaching 5 o’clock just so he could kick everyone out and start blasting his music and drink coffee again.

At 4:57 Murphy’s last customer of the day left. Murphy wasn’t expecting anyone else to show up in the 3-minute timespan between now and closing time, so he didn't bother turning to sign. He headed to the back to turn up the music and start his rock n’ roll playlist.

Just as the opening chord of the first song started to play, loudly, the bell chimed. Murphy cursed and looked at the clock. 2 minutes to go.

“We’re almost closed,” Murphy came around the corner from the back to see a girl he’d never seen before sitting at the counter. Her hair, which looked brown but could have easily been strawberry, was pulled back in a messy bun and her clothes hung off her like she’d been in a hurry. Her bag, a leather messenger back with visible wear and tear, was on the counter next to her folded hands.

“Don’t care,” The girl said, “Need coffee. Now.” She spoke deliberately, like she was afraid he was going to misinterpret her.

“What kind of coffee?” Murphy asked, walking over to her.

“Whatever you make the best,” Was her reply as she started looking through her bag.

“Okay,” Murphy shrugged and started brewing. The music filled the silence between them. When Murphy looked at the girl again, she was reading a book titled ‘REVOLUTION’.

“Nice music by the way,” She commented, turning a page, “Who is it?”

“Some band you’ve probably never heard of,” Murphy shrugged, pushing a cup of black coffee towards her, “Here’s your coffee.”

“Thanks,” The girl downed it in one gulp then continued reading, “And why do I have to know about a band to appreciate them. This is a really good song,” She stated.

“Like I said, it’s by a band you’ve probably never heard of.” Murphy deadpanned, “Now leave. It’s 5 and we close at 5.”

“Can’t I stay for longer?” The girl looked up from her book.

“No,” Murphy pointed to the door, “Out.”

The girl left without a second glance.

Murphy flipped the sign on the door and turned the volume on his music way up before starting to clean the cafe. He washed all the used coffee cups and plates, wiped down the tables and counter, packed up the leftover pastries and muffins to take home, and made himself a cup of coffee before locking up and leaving at around 6.

On his way home to his apartment near the college campus he lit a cigarette.

Ah the life of a college dropout.


	2. Chapter 2

Murphy’s apartment smelled like coffee and cigarettes. It always smelled like coffee and cigarettes.

The apartment itself was tiny, with one bedroom and one bathroom and barely any room for a table in between the kitchen and the sofa against the far wall, but it was home. It had been his home for 5 years, since his first month of college when he’d gotten so fed up with his roommate that he’d moved out and never looked back.

In the five years since he’d moved in to the small, poorly lit apartment, Murphy had made it his own. Books of all sizes were stacked against the walls, posters for bands, both underground and well known, were hung on every available wall space, his vinyl collection and player rested comfortably on his dresser, which was overflowing with vintage clothing, his bedside table was piled with cups of coffee and books, his kitchen held an assortment of coffee beans and ground coffee scattered around in various containers with barely any real food besides cold pizza in the fridge.

The best thing about the apartment was the fact that it was on the ground floor, which meant he didn’t have to walk up stairs to get to it, his water was heated most of the time, and the electricity worked most of the time. The worst thing was the fact it was in the middle of college housing, so there was always a party going on somewhere in his building.

A soon as his phone alarm went off at 3 in the morning, Murphy rolled over in his bed and groaned. It was still dark out, like always, but something about this morning was particularly bad. Murphy didn’t know why, but Wednesdays were always the worst to him.

Begrudgingly, Murphy pulled himself up out of bed.

“Fuck why do I get up so early,” He muttered to himself, pulling off his shirt and rifling through his dresser drawers for a new one. He finally settled on a gray muscle shirt that read “Fuck Off’ in big block letters. Pulling it on, he rubbed deodorant no his armpits before heading into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.

Sipping the boiling coffee, Murphy headed into the bathroom. He grabbed his comb and ran it through his hair, which was incredibly greasy even though it had been washed the night before. When he finished his coffee, he cleaned the cup in the sink before grabbing the blue beanie his foster mother had given to him on his 16th birthday and pulling it onto his head.

Placing the clean cup back in a cabinet, Murphy grabbed an apple from the fruit basket by the front door to his apartment, biting into it as he hunted for a pair of pants to wear to work. He eventually found a clean pair of faded black jeans and put them on, stuffing his phone, wallet, the keys to the cafe, a lighter, and a pack of cigarettes into the pockets.

Throwing the apple core out in the trash, Murphy exited his apartment in silence. He lit a cigarette as soon as he was outside the apartment building.

“We are the warriors that built this town,” Murphy sang to himself, rounding a corner and taking a drag of the cigarette, “Here we are don’t turn away now,” He took another drag, “We are the warriors that built this city.” He let the chemicals in the cigarette wake his body up.

The town around him wasn’t very alive at 3:30 in the morning. Streetlamps glowed haphazardly, papers rustled in the alley’s, the sky was an inky black littered with softly glowing points of light, the streets were eerily silent as every college party that had been raging into the morning hours had ground to a halt. It was Murphy’s favorite time of day.

He always took the long route to work, going down side streets and letting the cool September air clear his mind. He blended into the shadows easily, his cigarette being the only source of light as he passed broken streetlights and darkened corners.

By the time Murphy reached the door of the cafe, it was nearly 4 and he’d finished his second cigarette. Stamping the butt out on the ground, he pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. Slipping inside Outlaw, the scent of coffee greeted him, filling his nostrils with flavor.

Cleaning and setting up the cafe took him until 4:45, with his obscure rock music playing at an earsplitting volume all the way. He didn’t even here Atom come in until the music dropped to a reasonable volume.

“Atom,” Murphy looked up from the coffee machine, where he was making himself a cup, “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

Atom looked like a serial killer, no joke. He had curly black hair cropped short to his head and a curly black beard growing on his chin. He dressed like a fighter pilot, even though he just owned a coffee shop in a college town. His eyes were beady and dark against his cocoa skin. He was tall and lanky, and his body looked disproportionate with big biceps and small hands against a lean midriff and strong legs. His clothes, all except for his jackets, clung to him like they were two sized too small. His jackets looked like they were 2 sizes too big.

“I got a number of complaints yesterday about you mouthing off to customers,” Atom started, leaning against the counter, “I can to make sure you were being respectable to the customers.”

“I’m being as respectful to them as they are to me,” Murphy said slowly, pulling the coffee cup out of the machine and taking a sip, “That doesn’t mean it’s my fault if they’re rude.”

“Murphy,” Atom shook his head, “Murphy, Murphy, Murphy,” His voice got quieter, “I DON’T PAY YOU TO MOUTH OFF TO CUSTOMERS!” Atom raged, “You need to start respecting the customers more, or I’m going to have to hire another person to take part of your shift.” Atom shook a finger at him, “Fix your attitude.”

“You hired me because I was the best man for the job,” Murphy’s anger flared, “Not because my attitude was perfect.”

“I hired you because you were the only one who showed up to the interview with a solid background in serving coffee.” Atom said slowly, “And honestly you’ve been a great worker these past 5 years. But it’s a little hard to run a business when your only employee is scaring away customers.”

“The ones who get scared away aren’t worth serving anyway,” Murphy grumbled.

“What was that?” Atom came closer, “Did you say something?” Atom gave him a cold stare, daring Murphy to argue with him.

“No boss,” Murphy looked up and gulped, “Nothing. Just agreeing with you.” Murphy didn’t want to lose this job, and he definitely didn’t want to get a partner. He could barely stand the people who came in here looking for coffee, working with one of them would drive him to insanity.

“Good,” Atom relaxed a little, “I’ll be back next week to check on how you’re treating the customers.” Atom moved away, “See you then Murphy.” He left through the back entrance, which led out to the alley behind the cafe.

“See ya,” Murphy grumbled to no one in particular. His whole mood had been ruined by Atom stopping by.

Atom wasn’t like a normal boss, or a normal human being. He was wildly unpredictable, getting mad a Murphy for doing something one second and then completely chill with it the next. What he’d said about Murphy being the only person with a background in serving coffee to apply for this job, but he’d left out the part where Murphy basically ran the shop. Atom didn’t do anything except collect money each month and pay the rent. He didn’t even order the supplies or take inventory, Murphy did all that.

Still, he was the owner and Murphy’s boss. So Murphy had to listen to him.

Murphy finished his coffee and stuck the empty cup in the sink before turning the sign on the door and letting Miller into the shop.

“How was your night Miller?” Murphy grunted, handing the guy his coffee and muffin.

“Awful,” Miller grumbled, taking a bit of the muffin, “I sat there for fucking 7 hours and not a single person came in. Not a single one, but I wasn’t allowed to leave just in case someone does decide to come down to the station at fucking 3 in the morning.” Miller grimaced.

“I know how you feel,” Murphy glared toward the back of the shop, where he had last seen Atom, “My boss showed up this morning to tell me that I’m doing a fuck awful job of running this place because I’m disrespectful to the customers.” Murphy rolled his eyes and looked back at Miller, “Jackass.”

“Yep,” Miller agreed, taking a swig of coffee, “If you get the chance, and you don’t mind, stop by the station on your walk to work. I’d appreciate the company, if only for a minute. I’ll even give you a discount on a pack of cigarettes.” Miller motioned to Murphy’s pack on the countertop with his head.

“I’ll think about it,” Murphy nodded, “But I can’t promise anything. I fucking hate mornings.”

“Who doesn’t?” Miller agreed, dropping a $10 on the counter before standing up, “See ya Murph, thanks for the coffee. You’re a lifesaver, ya know?”

“Yep,” Murphy smiled at Miller and grabbed the 10, Miller’s empty cup, and the napkin, “I know.” And then the bell sounded and Miller was gone. And Murphy was left alone with his thoughts.

Murphy felt on edge. Typically, being in the coffee shop calmed him, and drinking coffee calmed him, but today none of it was working. He grabbed a cigarette and lit it. Maybe the chemicals would help.

Soon the coffee shop filled with the smell of smoke as Murphy smoked and washed the minimal amount of dishes in the sink simultaneously. When the bell rang at the door, Murphy didn’t even bother putting out the cigarette, he just left it in his lips and he walked back behind the counter to greet whatever customer, or customers, were there.

“Sup dude!” The scent of weed hit Murphy’s nose as he eyed the two druggies standing in the doorway, “Is that a blunt?” Jasper Jordan and Monty Green, the town’s drug addicts and premium weed dealers. Surprisingly, they were both coffee addicts as well as drug addicts, which meant they came into Outlaw fairly often.

“Hell no,” Murphy laughed dryly, “I’m not a shitbrain. It’s just a cigarette,” He took it out of his mouth, “See?”

“Hey! We ain’t shitbrains,” Monty chimed, taking a seat at the counter, “I’m about as shitbrained as you are ugly.” Of course Monty would take offense to that, he had an IQ equivalent to Einstein. Or something like that.

“I never said you two fuckheads were,” Murphy shrugged, “I’m just saying I’m not.” The fuckheads part went completely over their heads as Jasper turned his attention to the coffee menu on the wall.

“Can I have a,” Jasper started, “a,” He didn’t seem to be able to comprehend what he was reading, “a venti grande skim, non-fat, whole milk triple shot macchiato with caramel? I think that's what I want…” He trailed off.

“Sure,” Murphy rolled his eyes and pressed the button for tea, “And for you Monty?”

“The same thing,” Monty’s reply was barely audible as he stared out the window. Murphy followed his gaze as he made Jasper his ‘venti grande skim, non-fat, whole milk triple shot macchiato with caramel’ and found that Monty was staring at Miller, who was across the street taking a photo of something down the road.

“Friend of yours?” Murphy joked, putting the ‘macchiato’ in front of Jasper.

“Na,” Jasper answered for Monty.

“He’s hot.” Monty stated, turning back to Murphy, “Hotter than you.” Murphy raised an eyebrow at Monty, “What? He is.”

“Not fucking again,” Jasper muttered into his ‘macchiato’, “If you weren’t like a brother to me, Monty my boy, I’d think it extremely strange that you hit on every guy you see. Even if you just call them hot.” Jasper took a sip, “Mmm, Murph this is exactly what I wanted,” He exclaimed.

Murphy snickered and finished the second ‘macchiato’.

“It’s not my fault that they are!” Monty exclaimed as Murphy put a ‘macchiato’ in front of him.

“The guy down the hall from us,” Jasper started talking to Murphy, “His engineering teacher. The guy he sits in front of in Physics. You. That guy across the street,” It sounded like he was listing the guys Monty found hot.

“I never said that Mr. Craig was hot!” Monty shrieked at Jasper, whacking him in the arm, “I said he was mildly good looking.”

Murphy cracked a smile. Usually loud customers pissed him off, but it was impossible to get mad at Jasper and Monty. Especially when they were high.

“You know, he comes here every morning,” Murphy pointed to Miller with a smile.

“He does!?” Monty’s eye popped out of his head, “WHAT TIME? TELL ME MORE!” He exclaimed.

Murphy held back a laugh, “He’s here as soon as the doors open in the morning.” Murphy held up his hand, “5 o’clock.”

“But that's so early!” Monty’s voice went shrill.

“Dude, it’s like 5:30 now,” Jasper hit him in the arm.

“Oh, right,” Monty blushed and went back to sipping his ‘macchiato’.

“That was amazing Murphy my boy,” Jasper slid his empty cup towards Murphy, “ANOTHER!” He yelled in an Asgardian accent.

Murphy laughed out loud, “Whatever you say Jasper,” He pressed the ‘tea’ button on the coffee machine again.

“Pour moi aussi?” Monty asked in French, passing his empty cup to Murphy too.

“Yes, another for you too,” Murphy shook his head. These boys were too much.

Jasper and Monty bickered a little more as Murphy made them their second cups. He then cleaned counter and the coffee machine, which was looking a little dirty, before making the boys their third cups. They slapped a $50 on the counter, even though it was only $30, and told Murphy to keep the change before stumbling out, high on caffeine and weed.

Murphy lit another cigarette as he put the $50 in the register and pulled out a $20 for himself. He pocketed the $20 and made himself another cup of coffee.

Outlaw was quiet for the next hour and a half or so, while the world finished sleeping and the sun came up. Clarke entered at 7:10, with an eerily bright smile on her face.

“Guess what Murphy?” She asked cheerily, taking a seat at the bar.

“What?” Murphy grunted, rolling his eyes.

“I’m just going to take you complete lack of enthusiasm as an indication you don’t know what I’m talking about and tell you, ‘kay?” Clarke gave him a dopey smile, “Okay, so you know how I’m doing the mural for the college? Well, I finally got around to asking that really hot girl who owns the flower shop around the corner to help me out with it, and she said yes! I have an impromptu date this afternoon!”

“Do I look like I care?” Murphy asked sarcastically.

“You know, one day I’m gonna stop coming to you with news,” Clarke said sternly. Murphy rolled his eyes and smiled slightly.

“Are you gonna order coffee or not?” The smile dropped off his face.

“My usual please,” Clarke gave him a smile. He glared at her in response, “With milk this time, not black. And no lemon.”

While Murphy was busy making Clarke her tea the bell chimed again. Someone’s hands started tapping impatiently on the counter. The noise irritated Murphy to no end.

“Be with you in a fucking minute,” Murphy made a point of not looking at whoever it was while he handed Clarke her coffee, “Just give me a sec.”

When he turned around he was greeted by the same guy who he’d threatened yesterday, the one who’d asked for a nonfat caramel iced macchiato.

“Um,” The guy gave him a wary eye, “I was in here yesterday and I was wondering if you could make me the same thing you made me yesterday. It was the best coffee I’d had in a while.” The guy almost looked a little sheepish asking.

Murphy stared at him blankly, “I’m sorry, you’re going to have to be more specific. I don’t have time to remember what every fucking one of you orders every fucking day.” He actually did remember, he just didn’t like this guy, who was wearing a necktie like yesterday.

“Oh,” The guy looked taken aback, “I came in here asking for a nonfat caramel iced macchiato, but you gave me something different. I don’t remember what you said,” The guy started snapping his fingers, trying to remember.

“OH!” Murphy pretended to have a sudden realization, “You’re the guy I threatened to strangle yesterday! Ya, I remember you,” Murphy pointed to him, “I gave you an iced coffee with caramel on top.”

“Yes!” The guy smiled brightly, “Could I have another one of those?”

“No,” Murphy turned his attention away from the guy to the coffee machine.

“I’m sorry,” The guy tried to get into Murphy’s line of sight again, “Did you, did you just say no?”

“You heard me,” Murphy kept his head down, making a point of not looking at the guy.

“Why!?” the guy exclaimed, “I haven’t done anything to you!”

“You’re way too preppy for a place like this,” Murphy shot back, “Everything from your perfectly parted hair to the necktie, which I will still strangle you with if you piss me off, to your shiny shoes. You piss me off just by being in a place like this!” Everything Murphy said was true. Who did this guy think he was, showing up in a grudge coffee shop looking like he’s going to a courtroom? And who did he think he was to think he was on the same level as Murphy?

“Harsh much?” Clarke commented.

“You stay out of this Clarke,” Murphy pointed an finger at her, “This is between preppy-boy and me.”

Murphy and Preppy-Boy argued for a good 5 minutes. Surprisingly, he was a good arguer. He made sense, and in the end Murphy made him his fucking iced cappuccino or whatever the hell he asked for just to get him to leave the coffee shop. His whole image put Murphy in a bad mood.

Clarke made some shitty comment about Murphy’s anger issues after that, but the morning rush started so Murphy had no chance to retort before she had left.

Throughout the morning rush, Murphy’s mind was elsewhere. Throughout the rush, his mind was wandering, to a place where he could just drink coffee, smoke, and scream at people as much as he wanted without getting shit for it.

His ideal place.

Before Murphy knew it, the morning rush had ended and he had less than 5 minutes to get outside with a smoke before the Blake kid showed up.

“EAT SHIT AND DIE BLAKE!” Murphy screamed as soon as Bellamy reached the doors of the yogurt place.

“Fuck you Murphy!” Bellamy yelled back, giving Murphy the evil eye before slipping into his frozen yogurt place.

Murphy rolled his eyes and went back to his cigarette. When he finished, he went back into Outlaw, expecting barely any customers until at least 11. He made himself a coffee and sat down at the end of the counter, fiddling with his lighter, his mind drifting away.

The next thing he knew, his coffee cup was empty and the bell chimed again.

“Fucking hell I hate college,” The girl from yesterday, the one who came at the very end of his day yesterday, took a seat at the counter. Her voice, like yesterday, was deliberate and precise.

“Tell me about it,” Murphy pulled himself off the chair and went behind the counter, coming over to her.

“Apparently my prosecution law professor isn’t in town this week because he’s on a fucking cruise and I didn't fucking know because I’m not on the fucking email list for his class because I’m a fucking transfer student from across the country and everything fucking sucks,” She put her head in her hands, “I need a fucking coffee.”

“I know the feeling,” Murphy pressed the button for the strongest coffee the machine could make. “So, you’re a law student?” He asked while the coffee was brewing.

“Yep. Got a BA in psychology and then went to Concord Law for a year before transferring to ARK University.” The girl started rummaging in her bag and pulled out the same book that she was reading yesterday, “I’m Sawyer, by the way.”

“Murphy,” He pushed her coffee towards her.

“Thanks,” Sawyer took a long sip before opening the book, “You mind if I hang out here for a while?”

“As long as you can pay for the coffee,” Murphy grunted, pulling out a cigarette, “Mind if I smoke?”

“It’s your coffee shop dude,” Sawyer gave him an estranged look, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

And so for the next hour, Murphy smoked cigarettes as Sawyer drank coffee and read a strange book called REVOLUTION. The silence was oddly calming, with only the rustle of book pages every once in a while as Sawyer turned a page. Murphy felt oddly calm with the mix of chemicals from the cigarette and the coffee in his veins and the not-at-all oppressing silence around him.

At 11, Monty reappeared in the cafe, smelling unusually like soap.

“Hey Murphy,” He called as soon as he opened the door, “And hey random girl who’s reading at the counter reading a book called,” He tried to read the front of Sawyer’s book, “Revolution?”

“Hello random person who’s just walked into this coffee shop,” Sawyer retorted without blinking, “How has your day been?”

“Pleasant,” Monty turned back to Murphy, “Can you tell me more about the guy outside this morning, Miller right?”

Even though Monty wasn’t high anymore, Murphy didn’t have the heart to tell him to fuck off like he did with most people. Instead he gave Monty a long, hard look.

“You really like this guy, don’t you?” Murphy asked after a minute. Monty nodded slowly, “Then I’ll tell you what you want to know. But after the lunch rush,” Murphy checked the clock. It was past 11 and the lunch rush should hit any minute now.

“Okay,” Monty sat down at the counter, “I’ll wait.”

Monty sat down at the counter as 3 people came into the cafe.

-

Outlaw coffee was swamped for the lunch rush.

Murphy, his usual, not very charming self, was on the edge of a nervous breakdown with the amount of preppy, Starbucks loving bimbo’s and assholes in the grungy cafe. It didn’t make the matter any better that Monty had disappeared into the swarm of people and that Sawyer had dropped off the face of the earth. Things might have been easier if he had someone to talk to who didn’t make him want to claw out his own eyeballs.

But Murphy didn’t have that type of luck.

Because then Raven Reyes entered the picture, and the cafe, in an even worse mood than usual.

“Nice face today Murphy,” Raven plopped down in a free seat at the counter, “you get hit by a bus or something?” Raven thought she was so funny even though she wasn’t.

Murphy gave her a glare. “Nice boobs,” He retorted, making a point to stare at her chest, “Get some work done or something?”

“Fuck you Murphy,” Raven hissed, covering her boobs with a hand, “Fuck you.”

“I know you want to, but I only think of you as a friend.” Murphy winked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Just make me my coffee asshole,” Raven shoved him off and pulled out a notebook, “I’ve got some engineering notes I need to study the hell out of.”

“Fine,” Murphy started making her boring-as-hell caramel mocha.

“You know, you could be nicer to him,” The guy sitting next to her pointed out, his gaze held on her chest, “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be so mean.”

“An asshole like you should mind your own fucking business,” Raven glared at him, “And an asshole like that,” She pointed to Murphy, “Should be making my coffee.” Murphy gave her the evil eye as he grabbed the caramel topping bottle.

“Whatever girlie,” the guy didn’t take his eyes away from her boobs.

“Here’s your fucking coffee Raven,” Murphy pushed her caramel mocha over to her, the caramel topping already sinking into the froth.

“Thanks,” Raven grumbled, taking a sip. She then turned back to the guy next to her, who was still staring at her boobs, “You know,” She said softly, “The nice thing about having two hands is that I can drink my coffee and slap the shit out of you at the same time.” Raven gave him a hard look, “Just something to think about while your staring at me boobs.” She patted the guy in the face harshly before turning away.

“You're just going to let her talk to me like that?” The guy turned to Murphy.

Murphy shrugged, “You were staring at her boobs.” He moved his attention to another customer.

“I can’t believe this place,” The guy protested.

“You don’t have to believe it for it to be real,” Murphy sing-songed at him. He turned to the girl sitting at the counter with a Prada handbag and designer sunglasses. Murphy immediately didn’t like her, “What do you want?” He asked harshly.

“Um,” Her voice was musical and high pitched, “A coffee?”

“Ya, I kinds got that,” Murphy motioned to the coffee shop around him, “it’s a coffee shop. I meant what kind of coffee do you want?” He gave her a hard look.

“Um, a, can I have,” The girl looked a little deflated, “Can I have something with mocha. I really don’t care what it is, as long as it’s got mocha in it.” She said finally.

“Something with mocha, got it,” Murphy actually didn’t have a problem with that. This girl, while dressed in designer clothes with an annoyingly high pitched voice, seemed to be looking for good coffee instead of a Starbucks knockoff.

“Thanks,” She smiled at him before pulling out her phone. The new iPhone. Murphy rolled his eyes and started making her drink.

As Murphy was giving the rich girl her mocha coffee, a loud crash sounded behind him, followed my a shriek.

“FUCK YOU!” Raven screamed, taking another swing at the guy who had been sitting next to her, “FUCK YOU AND YOUR SEXIST, BIOGETED COMMENT!” The guy crumpled as Raven punched him in the nose.

“Both of you out!” Murphy yelled above the noise, “NOW!” everyone looked at him, “I don’t fucking care whose fault this was, I will not tolerate fighting in my coffee shop!” Murphy didn’t actually have a problem with it usually, but during the lunch rush it was a problem. And Murphy hadn’t yelled at anyone in a while and he was missing it.

“But,” The guy started protesting, “It wasn’t-”

Murphy put up a hand, silencing him, “I don’t care,” He said slowly, “Out!” Murphy pointed to the door.

Raven dropped a 5 on the counter before storming out. The guy took longer, glaring at Murphy while he picked up his sports bag and backpack before walking slowly out the door.

Murphy turned back to the rest of the customers, some of whom were staring at him with weird expressions and some who’d missed the action completely.

By the time the lunch rush finally ended, about an hour later than it typically did, Murphy was itching for a cigarette and a cup of coffee. He settled for a double espresso and leaned against the counter, fingering the lighter.

The cafe only had about 3 people left in it, all huddled around one table in the back, talking and flipping through photos on their phones. Murphy rolled his eyes at them and sipped his espresso silently.

“Hey Murphy,” Monty appeared in the doorway, “You got a chance to talk now?” He sat down at the counter and pulled out a notebook and a pencil.

“You know this isn’t a fucking lecture,” Murphy put his empty coffee cup down, “You don’t have to take notes.”

“Genius,” Monty tapped his temple with his pencil, “and besides. I want to take notes. Helps me retain information.”

“I cannot believe I’m fucking helping you pick up a guy,” Murphy muttered.

“Can we just get on with this,” Monty tapped impatiently, “I’ve got an engineering class in an hour.”

“Fine,” Murphy set his jaw, “His name is Miller, like I said. I have no idea what his first name is, but I call him Miller. He works the graveyard shift down at the gas station on the corner and he hates it, but it’s his job. He likes double shots of espresso in the morning and by the time October rolls around he probably won’t be sleeping very much. He’s also a film student at the college, and I think he’s directing a student film starting in January, but I’m not sure.” Murphy took a breath as Monty wrote everything he’d said down, “That’s all I know.”

“Okay,” Monty finished writing it all down, “Thanks Murphy.”

“Ya, ya,” Murphy waved a hand at him as he made another cup of coffee, “Just call me a fucking dating guru.”

“Still, most people would have laughed at my crush on him,” Monty flipped his notebook closed and put the pencil behind his ear, “But you didn’t.”

“Ya, well, I’m not the best person to praise. I’ve done some pretty fucked up things in my life.” Murphy took a sip of his new coffee.

“Everyone has,” Monty shrugged, “You shouldn’t let that stuff define you. You’ve got a good heart Murphy.” Then he left. And the three girls in the back left shortly after. And Murphy was left alone with his thoughts.

For the next 2 hours, Murphy served the odd customer here and there, his retorts and responses getting shorter and harsher as the minutes ticked away. At 4:30, Outlaw was completely empty.

Murphy’s mind was still turning with what Monty had said. How the hell did he have a good heart? Where the hell did that line come from?

“FUCK THIS!” Murphy screamed at no one in particular, grabbing a cigarette from his pack and lighting it. The chemicals entering his system calmed him down, but not enough.

“How the fuck do I have a good heart?” Murphy thought out loud, taking another drag.

“Because you do.” Sawyer’s careful, clear voice surprised him. He turned to her, a withering, murderous look on his face. Sawyer just stood in the doorway, watching Murphy smoke, her face blank of expression.

“And why the hell would you think that?” Murphy sneered at her.

She shrugged, “I just have a feeling.” She spoke slowly, like she had yesterday afternoon, as if she was afraid he would mishear her.

“Then you shouldn’t listen to that feeling,” Murphy took another drag.

“Fair enough,” Sawyer sat down at a table, “Can I get a coffee? Something with vanilla this time, I don’t need to forget everything my defense professor just told us.”

“I guess,” Murphy grunted, putting the butt of the cigarette in the trash, “You do know we close soon though, right?”

“Ya, I know,” Sawyer folded her hands on the counter and looked at him. Just stared at him, saying nothing, while he made her coffee.

“What is it?” Murphy asked as he slid her vanilla cappuccino towards her. He didn’t like people studying him, especially people he didn’t know.

“Nothing,” Sawyer frowned but didn’t take her eyes off him, “Nothing at all,” Her voice went quiet.

“Seriously,” Murphy chuckled as a defense mechanism, “Just tell me. Something on my face, something in my teeth, I have a rip in my shirt or jeans? Just tell me.”

“No,” Sawyer shook her head, “Nothing like that. You just remind me of someone I used to know. But I can’t quite remember who.” Her voice was more melodic now, less structured and precise.

“Well, until you figure it out,” Murphy pointed to her coffee, “You’re coffee’s getting cold.”

“Right,” Sawyer picked up the cup and took a sip and continued talking, “You know, when they said you made the best coffee in town, I didn’t believe them. But now that I’m here, I can see they were right.”

“Whose they?” Murphy asked slowly, cleaning the dirt off the coffee machine.

“Kids at the college,” Sawyer shrugged, “People just talk. Heard through the grapevine that Outlaw Cafe made the best coffee in town, provided you don’t piss off the barista. Apparently you hold a grudge,” She raised her eyebrows at him.

“People who don’t look or act like they belong in a place like this shouldn’t be in a place like this.” Murphy grunted in response, “It’s not my fault some people can’t understand that.”

“Understandable,” Sawyer gave him a look of approval before taking another sip of coffee. The quiet music filled the silence again, “You never did tell me what band this is.”

“Their called The Frostbite Experiment,” Murphy said after a second, “Their underground, from New York City.”

“How’d you find out about them?” Sawyer asked. Murphy debated kicking her out, he didn’t like it when people asked too many questions.

But he answered anyway, “Grew up in the slums of Manhattan. The bass player for Frostbite is one of my friends from high school.”

Sawyer nodded, “That's cool,” And then they lapsed into silence again. Sawyer pulled out a notebook and started reading through some notes.

Murphy turned up the music after a couple of minutes. The cafe already smelled like smoke, so Murphy didn’t think anything of it when he lit another cigarette, the last in his pack.

At 4:58 Murphy tapped on the counter in front of Sawyer, “2 minutes till closing,” He said, grabbing her empty coffee cup.

“Kay,” Sawyer closed her notebook and put it back in her bag, “I’ll get out of your hair then.” She stood up and handed him a $10, “Keep the change.” Sawyer made her way to the door, “See you tomorrow Murphy.” She said softly.

And then she was gone.

Murphy made himself another cup of coffee before cleaning the cafe up. He opened the back door to let the smell of smoke out and turned the sign on the front door. After cleaning all the tables, sweeping the floor, cleaning the counter, and washing the dishes Murphy walked out and locked the door behind him.

On his way home, Murphy stopped at the gas station and bought another pack of cigarettes. What could he say, he was an addict.


	3. Chapter 3

By Saturday, things at Outlaw Cafe had fallen into a semi-normal rhythm, if the rhythm was unpredictable and unreliable.

Monty hadn’t been in to the cafe since the Wednesday when Murphy gave him all the info on Miller. Miller was always in a rush, complaining about timings for the shots for his student photography portfolio that was due in November. Raven was her opinionated self, but even she could see how run down he was during the lunch rush. Even Clarke, as much as he hated to admit it, staying for less than 5 minutes each morning bummed him out.

He barely saw Sawyer during the day too. She usually came in at 4:30 for a cup of coffee, a croissant, and to read until closing time. Murphy didn’t exactly mind, since she didn’t mind him smoking inside, but it was a chore to get through the day at all just to see her.

Which was where they were at 4:57 Saturday afternoon, her sipping her third cup of coffee and reading while he smoked the last cigarette in his pack and sitting on the counter instead of standing behind it.

“I saw you at The Dropship last night.” She commented absentmindedly.

“Ya,” Murphy took a drag. He didn’t exactly like The Dropship, the only club in town, but it was the best place to go on a Saturday night, “And I was doing what?”

“Flirting with some bimbo,” Sawyer shrugged and turned the page of her book, “You were drunk.”

“Obviously,” Murphy rolled his eyes, “I’d never hit on some fucking bimbo if I was sober.”

“Obviously,” Sawyer echoed, closing her book, “It’s 5. You want me to leave?”

“Yep,” Murphy hopped off the counter, “Turn the sign on your way out.” He grabbed a rag from the back.

“Already on it!” Sawyer called as the bell clanged. The door had already closed by the time Murphy had come back around, and sure enough the sign had been switched around.

“Great,” Murphy crinkled his nose as he started cleaning Outlaw.

By the time he’d finished, it was almost 6. Murphy left the cafe, locking the door behind him, and made his way over to the gas station to buy another pack of cigarettes.

“Again?” The kid at the register, her name tag said Monroe, raised an eyebrow at him. She was the same cashier that was in yesterday and Murphy was fairly certain that the gas station only had 3 employee’s.

“What can I say,” Murphy gave her a haphazard smile, “I’m an addict,”

“You might wanna get some help then,” She passed him the pack, “You know it’s bad for you.”

“I kinda don’t fucking care,” Murphy rolled his eyes and passed her a $10.

“Still,” Monroe passed him his change, “People don’t get through life smoking.”

“Who said I wanted to get through life?” Murphy gave her a smirk and left the gas station. Monroe stared after him with an odd expression on her face.

The walk home was quiet for Murphy. He ended up thinking over his life choices actually, which was strange. He didn’t typically do that.

He didn’t have any regret over what he’d chosen to do with his life, because every choice he made had turned him into the person he was today and he liked who he was, but at the same time he kinda wished things would have turned out differently. He wished his foster mother was still around, he wished he’d graduated college, he wished he’d bought the cafe from Atom when he’d had the chance, he wished a lot of things. But at the same time if things had turned out differently, he wouldn’t be in the place he was now. And even though the place he was now wasn’t great, it wasn’t completely awful.

When he got home, Murphy found a note on his door, 1B. He opened it, “Stop waking up at ungodly hours. -1A.” So it was from the person next door. Who apparently didn't like his sleep pattern. Well, they could suck it.

Murphy crumpled up the note and unlocked his door, dropping the note in the trash as he entered. Fuck anyone who tried to tell him how to live his life. And it wasn’t like he could amend his sleep patterns, he had a job that required him to get up early. People just didn’t think about that stuff.

His apartment was a mess, like always. He dropped his stuff, his phone, wallet, keys, and cigarettes, on the counter by the door and looked around at the small room. Maybe he should clean it.

Murphy decided to clean his apartment up with his music blasting, just to piss off the people upstairs.

The first thing he did was grab all the discarded clothes around the room and put them on his bed. He decided to leave all the laundry for later and looked at the room again. Papers were stacked on the table, from his college days, and he didn’t have the heart to throw them out. They reminded him of better times. So, he grabbed a cardboard box from the wardrobe, yes he kept cardboard boxed flattened in the bottom in case he needed them, taped it up and started dropping the papers in it. The essay’s on Shakespeare, the in-depth analysis of the tone of the characters in Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, all the little notes he made during class about how books have changed the course of history, it all went into the box. And in the end the table was bare and the box was filled to the brim.

Murphy taped it shut and wrote on the top in pen ‘College Notes’ before shoving it against the side of the kitchen countertops.

Then he grabbed all his books, piles and piles of them with titles from The Hunger Games to Graffiti Moon. He laid them all out on the bare table and sorted the books into piles. Books he’d read more than 5 times, books he’d read 2-4 times, books he’d only read once, books he loved, book’s he hated, books he’d never read, every single book went into a pile. By the end, he had about 10 books he wanted to give away for one reason or another. Those stayed on the table as the other were piled on the floor by the door to the bedroom.

Murphy then started cleaning up the kitchen. Organizing the cabinets by what he had, putting all his coffee in one spot instead of leaving it out, putting all the cups in one spot, all the plates in another, forks, knives, and spoons organized in their drawer, and finally checking the fridge to see what he needed. Which was a lot.

Grabbing a pen and paper, Murphy made a list of food he needed. He would hit the store tonight, or tomorrow morning if it was closed by the time he got there tonight.

Cleaning calmed Murphy, in the same way reading calmed him. It was an active calm, like he was creating something instead of destroying things. The same way reading made him believe he was creating something instead of destroying things.

By the time he was finished with his kitchen, it was almost 7. Too late to go to the store, he made a point of not going later than 6:30. He would just have to make do with what he had, which was leftover pizza, some eggs, milk, and 2 packets of ramen noodles. Not the best dinner, but the only one he had.

Murphy grabbed a plate and plopped a slice of pizza on it, shoving it into the microwave to nuke while he brewed himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t bother turning down him music while he ‘cooked’, it would just piss of the people above him even more. Which was the whole point of playing it so loudly.

Murphy eventually found himself sitting at the newly cleaned table, finishing his coffee and pizza while reading a random book called Graffiti Moon, which was about a bunch of kids roaming around a city in the 24 hours period the book is set in.

When his plate was empty, and his coffee cup was drained, he closed the book and checked the clock. The Dropship had been open for about a half-hour already and he had options. Stay home with the book, or go to a club and get drunk.

Murphy closed the book and stared at the door, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two options. On one hand, a night in would allow him to unwind. But the club would let him bang someone. But the club would also give him a hangover in the morning, which staying at home wouldn’t. Staying at home was the more likely option, which was why Murphy decided to go to the club.

Murphy changed into something nicer than worn-down jeans and an old band t-shirt, into a black button down and darker, less worn-down jeans. He combed his annoyingly long hair, pulled it under a black beanie, and slipped on the only shoes he owned, brown hiking boots, before grabbing his keys, his wallet, his phone, and his cigarettes and heading out the door.

Murphy made his way to The Dropship and found himself, within the hour, staring at Raven Reyes as she poured drinks and bantered with horny dudes from behind the bar.

“Murphy, what do you want?” She asked him, nodding in his direction.

“Something with whiskey,” He replied, nodding along to the beat of whatever EMD was playing and turning to face the dance floor.

It wasn’t that Murphy liked clubs but he didn’t dislike them either. He liked the ambiance and the drinking, but he didn’t like the music choice or the dancing. After a couple of drinks though it was a whole different story.

“Here is one straight up Manhattan for you,” Raven handed Murphy a glass, “And I swear if you complain about it, I’ll shove the drink up your ass,” She gave him a glare.

Murphy chuckled in response, “Okay Raven,” He said, taking a sip. Raven was a great barista, because she poured good drinks and because she was sassy. Sassy was good in a place like this.

By Murphy’s third drink, he was flirting with a blonde, surprisingly enough, dressed in a tight black cocktail dress with a low cut front. She was hot, and she was interested in Murphy apparently. Perfect one night stand material.

“You’re the bartender at that criminal coffee shop, right?” She pursed her lips, looking up at his face and putting her hand on his chest, “The one that yells at people when they ask stupid questions?”

“Ya,” Murphy leaned down so that his breath tickled her nose, “I guess I am. And you are?”

“I’m a biology major,” She leaned her head up so that their lips were almost touching, “My area of study is anatomy,” She whispered.

“Well,” Murphy put a hand on her waist, rolling his hips on hers, “I’m also really good at anatomy,” And he kissed her. And she kissed back. And within the hour they were back at her dorm, kissing and taking off their clothes.

In the morning, Murphy woke up at 5 with a giant hangover, lying naked next the blonde girl from the night before. He pulled himself up, dressed, grabbed an aspirin from her bathroom cupboard, swallowed it dry and left the dorm, making sure not to wake her roommate or her up in the process.

Murphy thought he’d never see that girl again. He was wrong.

Because that afternoon her photo was all over the media, next to the headline ‘Girl Found Dead in Alley.”


	4. Chapter 4

Murphy was in way over his head. He was fucked, big time, and it wasn’t even his fault. It was chance that he happened to be the last person to see someone alive before they were found brutally murdered behind the cafe. But now, because of his personality and where the body was found, if he went to the police he would be detained on murder charges. And he’d lose his job. And he’d lose what little respect he had in this community.

“So, are you going to call the police and tell them you slept with that dead girl, Charlotte, the night before she was murdered behind your coffee shop?” Sawyer was sitting on the counter, literally on the counter, staring at Murphy. Murphy was staring back from where he was leaning against the far wall. It was almost 5, and no one had been in the coffee shop since they found the body in the alley. No one except Sawyer.

“You heard the news,” Murphy rolled his eyes, “I’m the prime suspect, on top of being the only employee in the place they technically found the body. I go into the station and they’ll arrest me on the spot.” Whatever the news said, Murphy hadn’t killed anyone. He’d never kill anyone, no matter how many times he threatened people’s lives. He may hate certain members of the human race with a fiery passion, but he wasn’t a killer.

“You really are in a jam, aren’t you?” Sawyer smirked at him.

“Shut the hell up Sawyer,” Murphy rolled his eyes.

“My advice would be to tell the police,” Sawyer continued talking, “They don’t have enough evidence to charge you, and you can ask for your name not to be released to the public. Within 72 hours, if they arrest you, they have to charge you or let you walk. Since you’re innocent, they have to let you walk.” Sawyer was speaking decisively again, but her argument made sense.

“What if my name does get out?” For Murphy, that would be the worst thing. People didn’t like him, and if they found out he was the last person to see a dead girl alive, whether he’d actually killed her or not, they’d destroy his reputation.

“That’s a chance every innocent person had to take,” Sawyer hadn’t even considered the possibility that Murphy had been guilty. She hadn’t even let him explain, she’d just took his word that he was innocent and started trying to cheer him up. And do the right thing.

“Well,” Murphy pushed off the wall with his foot, “That’s I chance I don’t think I can take. I’m ruined if people find out the police think I killed someone.” He started cleaning the table nearest to him.

“So, what happens when they find your fingerprints or DNA or whatever at her place or on her body? What are you going to do then?” Sawyer wouldn’t stop with the questions, “Because they will find those things. And they will come to question you. And then they can charge you for obstruction of justice. And it’s hard to beat those raps.” Sawyer was making sense with her argument, but something seemed off. She knew a lot about the law and all its inner workings, which was strange since she’d only been a law student for a week.

“Wait, how do you know all of this?” Murphy asked, looking up at her questioningly.

Sawyer shifted a little uncomfortably, “My dad’s a lawyer and my mom’s a police officer. I kinda grew up in this,” She said softly, “I don’t really like talking about it though.” She looked down at her hands, “Anyway, we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you, and why you should go to the police.”

“I’m not going.” Murphy looked away from her, “If my name gets out then I lose my job and the respect I have with the people of this town. It doesn't matter if I’m found guilty or not, they’ll still say I did it.”

“The police will find out who you are sooner or later,” Sawyer hopped off the counter, “It’s better to go to them now than just wait until they come to you. If they come to you, there’s a higher chance of your name being released because you look guiltier.” She stood in the center of the cafe, staring at Murphy.

“Look,” Murphy threw down the rag in anger, “I can’t go. There’s too much at stake. I’ve already quit college, I don’t want to lose the cafe also. Atom’s never going to keep me hired if the town thinks I’m a murderer.”

“Then go to the police so they can actually find the murderer.” Sawyer pressed, “You’re acting like they’re never going to find who did it. When they do, your name will be cleared of any suspicion. And besides, how are they going to solve the case without all the information?” Murphy hated that Sawyer was right. He hated that she made sense, he hated that she made him want to go to the police with the information.

“Murphy?” The bell rang as the door opened and Miller popped his head in, “Oh, hey Sawyer. Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Sup Miller,” Sawyer nodded at him and went behind the bar, grabbing a cup and pressing a button on the coffee machine. Murphy didn't feel like stopping her, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“What are you doing here so late Miller?” Murphy asked, walking up to the counter and taking a seat, “You never come in this late,” It was almost 6.

“You guys are never open this late,” Miller sat down next to Murphy. Sawyer stood across from them, sipping the coffee she’d made for herself.

“I’ve been trying to convince this idiot,” Sawyer motioned to Murphy, who gave her a look in response, “To go to the police with his information.”

“What information?” Miller looked at Murphy.

“He’s the guy the vic slept with last night.” Sawyer smirked, “He’s scared that if he tells the police his name will be released and people will run him out of town.”

“That’s not what I said!” Murphy protested loudly. He didn’t want to lose the little bit of respect he had in the community, and he didn’t want to lose his job at Outlaw.

“You slept with the vic?” Miller looked at him strangely, “Are you like, not into that or something?”

“I’m not ace if that’s what you mean,” Murphy grunted back at him, “I like sex just as much as the next guy, and unlike some I don’t particularly care who it’s with. That’s like the opposite of asexual. And yes, I was the last person to sleep with that girl, Charlotte, and quite possibly the last person to see her alive,” Murphy noticed the look he was getting, “But that doesn't mean I’m gonna go to the police.”

“You should,” Miller shook his head slowly.

“See, Miller agrees with me,” Sawyer pointed out.

Murphy was kind of sick of their nagging. His reasons for not going seemed trivial compared to their arguments, but his pride was stopping him now. He’d rather be damned to hell before he admitted he’d been wrong.

Then again, he was already damned to hell if he didn’t go to the police.

“If I say I’ll go, will you guys stop nagging me about it?” Murphy asked, a little pissed off at them.

Sawyer looked taken aback, “Of course we’ll stop.”

“Why would we continue after you said you would?” Miller asked, looking back at Murphy.

“Fine,” Murphy grumbled, “I’ll go to the police.” Sawyers face lit up, “But if I end up arrested or sentenced or anything, you,” Murphy pointed to her, “are paying for my bail.”

“Sounds good,” Miller nodded.

NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP! NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN! NEVER GONNA RUN AROUND AND DESERT YOU!

Murphy and Miller put their hands to their ears as Sawyer rummaged through her bag, eventually producing her phone, which was playing the chorus to that god awful song on repeat.

“Sorry,” Sawyer tapped her phone, “My boyfriend’s wondering where I am.”

“Boyfriend?” Miller looked at her questioningly.

Sawyer put up and finger and raised the phone to her ear, “John?” There was a pause, “Yes, I know I said we’d meet at 6, but there was an emergency.”

Pause.

“John, John, listen. That girl who died, she died behind one of my friend’s coffee shop. I’ve just been helping him deal.”

Pause.

“What do you mean you know the guy?”

Pause.

“He threatened you? Well, were you being a dick?”

Murphy choked, she hadn’t just said that.

“Well, I don’t care. You don’t control me, we’re in a mutual relationship. I can hang out with whoever I want, and it’s not like I get mad at you when you go out partying with those girls from your art class.”

Pause.

“How is this different?”

Pause.

“Look, okay, I’ll come now.”

Pause.

“Ya, bye,” Sawyer hung up and scooted around the counter, “Sorry boys, gotta go.”

“Bye,” Miller waved her out before turning to Murphy, “You seriously gonna go to the police?”

Murphy glared at him and stood up, “Doesn’t seem like I have a choice.”


	5. Chapter 5

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

Murphy was in deep shit.

Fuck.

How it happened, he didn’t know. But it was Wednesday and his name had been released to the public. After he’d made his statement at the police station on Monday, they told him his name wouldn’t be released and that they’d call him. And yet, here his name was on the Wednesday morning news, above the words ‘Murder Suspect’.

Murphy was fucked.

He paced the length of the shop, angrily muttering under his breath in gibberish, putting his negative feelings into incomprehensible words.

No one had been in the coffee shop that day after Miller had left, not even Clarke who came in when she was sick. At first, he just thought he’d forgotten to change the sign, but when he checked he hadn’t. Then he checked his phone, and the news story popped up on the screen. By 11, he’d already gotten angry calls from college students calling him a dick for killing their friend.

At least the police hadn’t released where he worked or anything like that. But it wasn’t long until people began to recognize him around town, and then everything would get worse.

Murphy didn’t want it to get worse. As much as he hated the regulars at the shop, and as much as he bitched about his life, he didn’t want it to change. Deep down, he was lonely without Clarke to pester him about paint types, or Monty and Jasper to ask him for the most ridiculous coffee’s ever, or Miller who’d started opening up a little more about his life outside of the cafe. Hell, he even missed Raven with her obnoxious voice and over-important opinions.

“Sup Murphy?” The door opened, the bell jingling amongst the silence in the shop.

“Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear.” Murphy muttered, turning around to face Raven with a deep scowl, “What do you want Raven?”

“I want a coffee, obviously,” Raven sat down at the counter.

“In case you haven’t heard, I’m a murderer,” Murphy rolled his eyes, “You don’t want a murderer making you coffee.”

“Just don’t forget the caramel,” Raven leaned forward, whispering loudly at him before leaning back and pulling her engineering notebook out of her bag, “And besides. I don’t think you did it.”

Murphy almost choked as he pressed the button for her coffee, “What?”

“I,” Raven said slowly, “don’t think you did it.” She stared at him before shrugging, “You don’t have the stomach for murder.” She looked back down at her notes.

“Who says I don’t?” Murphy grabbed her coffee angrily and poured the caramel in sloppily. Who did she think she was, telling him what he was like? He had to stomach for murder, he just wouldn’t commit it. There’s a difference.

“I do,” Raven looked up at his again, “And you’re pouring the caramel wrong again.” She whined, glaring at him.

“Don’t fucking care,” Murphy shoved the coffee towards her, “And I could commit murder if I wanted to.” He lit a cigarette.

“Not something you want to say when you're a suspect in a murder case,” Raven sang at him, ignoring the coffee, “And I’m not going to drink the coffee until you pour the caramel right.”

“Go shove that coffee up your ass then,” Murphy took a drag, “I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

“What, like there’s so many people you have to serve right now?” Raven cocked an eyebrow and motioned to the empty cafe.

“Fuck you Raven,” Murphy grumbled, leaning against the wall behind the counter, “Fuck you, and your little dog too.”

“I know you want to,” Raven winked at him, “But I only think of you as a friend,” She joked, finally taking a sip of the coffee.

Murphy didn’t answer her, not because he didn’t have a retort but because he didn’t want to elongate the argument. Raven could think she’d won all she wanted, the smug bitch, but Murphy knew he’d win with enough time. He just didn’t want to have that time.

For about 10 minutes, the only noise in the cafe was the rustle of Raven’s notes, the sound of her sipping coffee, and the noise of Murphy blowing the smoke from the cigarette out of his mouth.

“So, how do you know Sawyer?” Raven asked, breaking the silence in the room.

“What?” Murphy stared at her oddly, “Why, how, WHAT?”

“Sawyer. The girl with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes whose of Brazilian decent? The girl David’s dating? Her?” Raven rolled her eyes.

“Wait, how do you know her?” Murphy was utterly confused.

“John, Sawyer boyfriend, is doubling in engineering and law. He’s in my class, and Sawyer’s there when he gets out and I’ve talked with her a couple of times,” Raven shrugged, “He has a problem with her hanging out here, so I thought I’d ask you what that was all about.” Raven stared at him for a long time, “And I want you to make me a proper cup of coffee.” She said finally, pushing her empty coffee cup towards him.

“I’m not going to talk about Sawyer,” Murphy grunted, taking her coffee cup and cleaning it before brewing another cup, “And her boyfriend can suck it.”

“Ooh, do I sense some jealousy?” Raven was in a surprisingly good mood.

“Why are you in a good mood?” Murphy changed the subject, shoving her coffee towards her.

“Finn gets out tomorrow.” Raven smiled brightly, which was really strange but not uncalled for on her part. Finn was Raven’s boyfriend, who’d gotten a year in the county’s prison for hitting a guy while driving drunk and killing him. He’d accepted his fate, and the sentence was up tomorrow which meant he’d be coming home to Raven.

“Goof for fucking him,” Murphy honestly didn’t care about Finn. Murphy had witnessed the hit-and-run incident from his apartment, and he was pretty sure Finn hadn’t felt any remorse over the incident. Which scared Murphy, deep down.

Before Raven could say anything else, the bell jangled and Monty and Miller practically ran in, their hands clasped together tightly.

“Murphy, we just heard what happened!” Monty screeched, slamming into the counter, “And we don’t believe it!”

“There’s no way you killed that girl,” Miller agreed, pulling Monty back so he didn’t hurt himself. Murphy eyes the intertwined hands, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to intrude on other people’s lives, and if it was important Miller and Monty would probably tell him what was up.

“Okay,” Raven commented, looking pointedly at Monty and Miller, “I’m all for you guys supporting Murphy, but when did that happen?” She motioned to their intertwined hands.

Monty blushed, “We might have,” He dropped his eyes and sent Miller a sideways smile, “We might have met at a bar down the street this weekend, on gay night.” Monty leaned his head on Miller’s shoulder.

“Long story short,” Miller leaned his head on Monty’s, “We really hit it off, and neither of us wanted it to be a one night stand. We’re going on a date this afternoon.”

“You two are dating!” A new voice joined the conversation. Everyone looked to see Jasper standing in the doorway, “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Is this place like fucking grand central station or something?” Murphy muttered begrudgingly. Raven was being nice, which sucked because then Murphy had no one to piss off, Sawyer was nowhere, Monty and Miller were dating and being all lovey and gross, and now Jasper had come in, not high. 

“How did this happen?!” Jasper screeched, “When did this happen!? WHERE DID THIS HAPPEN!!?” Jasper was basically bouncing off the walls, he was so excited for Monty and Miller.

“Doesn’t matter,” Raven turned to Jasper, “We have bigger things to worry about. Like Murphy getting run out of town for killing that girl.”

“I didn’t kill her,” Murphy insisted, glaring at Raven. Now she decided to be less than friendly.

“Doesn’t matter, they’ll still kick you out. No one likes you in this town, no matter how good your coffee is.” Raven waved him off absently.

Miller snapped his fingers, “Which means we need to prove your innocence.”

“You all sound like fucking private dick’s or something.” Murphy leaned against the counter, “What are you gonna do? Dig through my trash for clues?” Murphy waved his hands and put fake enthusiasm on his face.

Raven was less than impressed, “You got a problem with that? You think we’re gonna find your discarded gay porn?”

“You’d love to find my gay porn, wouldn’t you Raven.” Murphy shot back. “And believe me, I think it’d be hilarious to watch you guys dig through my trash, but if you wanna prove my innocence, you’re gonna have to think of something better than that.” Murphy’s words were tinged with laughter, for some reason he found this whole thing utterly hilarious.

“How do we know you didn’t do it?” Jasper eyes him warily through his high, his eyes bloodshot around the edges.

“Murphy didn’t do it.” A voice Murphy barely recognized rang out. Everyone turned to the door, to find Bellamy fucking Blake standing there, “Murphy didn’t kill her.”

“And how do you know that?” Jasper asked, swaying on his feet.

“Bellamy cocked a head to one side and looked at Murphy, chuckling, “Because I’m his alibi for the time of the murder, believe it or not.”


	6. Chapter 6

“What the fuck are you doing here Blake?” Are the first words out of Murphy’s mouth after he gets over the shock of Bellamy-Fucking-Blake standing in the doorway to his coffee shop.

“I’m trying to save your ass Murphy,” Bellamy deadpans, “Shut up an let me.”

“Get the hell out of my cafe,” Murphy threw back. Who the hell did Blake think he was, coming in to the one place he hated more than anything and announcing like a fucking white knight that he had the magical answer to Murphy’s troubles.

“Maybe we should hear him out?” Monty suggested quietly. Murphy ignored him, to busy standing in a stare down with Bellamy. Murphy looked away first, something twingeing in his gut.

“Like I was saying,” Bellamy walked in and sat himself down at the counter, “I know Outlaw and I don’t have the best relationship,”

“Like hell we don’t,” Murphy grumbled.

“But,” Bellamy eyed Murphy warily, “that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you go to jail for a murder you didn’t commit.”

“Not you fucking too,” Murphy started hitting his head against the counter, he couldn’t deal with this. He wasn’t built to be cared about, and the amount of people who had told him they knew he wasn’t the killer in the last hour made him want to blow his brains out.

“It’s not gonna help you or us if you pass out from blunt force trauma,” Raven commented as Murphy continued his banging.

“You underestimate how badly I want to be anywhere else but here Reyes,” Murphy shot back. Suddenly the space he was hitting his head against felt less like a counter and more squishy. Murphy’s eyes shot open in surprise to se Bellamy’s hand resting in the place he had been hitting.

“What the fuck Blake?” Murphy cursed, trying to calm his beating heart and play of his surprise and disinterest, failing miserably at both.

Bellamy ignored him and turned to the others, “Do you guys want to hear my alibi or not?”

“I want to hear it,” Monty raised his hand like he was in a class. Murphy rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

He didn’t like it, but maybe the best course of action here was just to let them talk it all out and then let them leave.

“Murphy couldn’t have done it because I know he was home at 5:30 to 6:30 that morning, which is the time frame for the murder.” Bellamy said slowly, like he was afraid he was getting his facts wrong.

“And how the hell do you know that Blake?” Murphy leaned against the counter, leering at Bellamy with a mouth full of venom, “Stalking me huh?”

“No dumbass, I live in the apartment next to you.” Bellamy deadpanned, not even turning his head.

“You what?” Murphy could honestly say he hadn’t seen that one coming, “Wait, you’re 1A? The same 1A that gets pissed off by my music and leaves me vaguely threatening notes? And you knew who I was? What the fuck Blake?” Murphy lit another cigarette angrily, glaring at Bellamy’s stupid mop of black hair instead of his face.

“Murphy, what do you think would have happened if I’d told you I was your neighbor sooner?” Bellamy asked him, a slightly amused smirk on his face.

“I probably would have killed you.” Murphy decided after taking a drag, “And then hid your body behind the building.”

“Ooh,” Raven sucked in a breath, “Don’t let the cops hear you say that, they might just actually arrest you.” She shook her head at him.

“Is there a point to you all being here, or did you all just decide that today was a great day to hang out in the coffee shop of a murderer?” Murphy changed the topic, sick and tired of talking with human beings who were looking at him like he was worth something more than coffee.

“Well, we are discussing how to prove your innocence,” Miller motioned to the group sitting at the counter, from Raven to himself to Monty to Jasper to Bellamy. “I can understand if that concept is a little unusual for you, since you do everything in your power to push people away, but we’re trying anyway.”

“Shut up,” Was all Murphy managed to get out. He didn’t want to deal with any of this. Hell, if they were going to be this annoying about everything he should just pack his bags and skip town to get away.

Murphy didn’t realize he’d thought aloud until Raven said, “Stop thinking like that. And don’t skip town, you’re the only one who makes good coffee.”

Murphy didn’t believe her, but he shrugged anyway, turning away from the group, “On that note,” he drawled, “Anyone want coffee?” If he couldn’t beat them, couldn’t drive them away, and couldn’t run from them, he might as well make them coffee.

“An expresso for me,” Bellamy said automatically. Murphy grunted and pressed a button on the coffee machine.

“Whatever you made me and Monty last time,” Jasper gave Monty a look before turning to Murphy, “What was it again.”

“Tea,” Murphy deadpanned as the expresso finished. He grabbed two more mugs and pressed the ‘tea’ button on the machine. “You guys are gonna pay for these, right?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Bellamy asked, grabbing his expresso from where Murphy had put it aside and taking a sip.

Murphy didn’t bother answering. He passed the first tea to Monty before starting the second one. Things were quiet for a second.

“So what do we do now?” Raven asked, “Bellamy has an alibi for Murphy, but the whole town hates him. They’re not going to let it go that easily.” Murphy passed Jasper his tea, and started making himself a coffee.

“We stick to his side like glue, and we do absolutely everything we can to prove he didn’t do it.” Bellamy answered after a beat, chasing down the rest of his expresso with a forced smile.

“Good luck junior detectives,” Murphy said passively with a smile, nursing his coffee and leaning against the counter, “Let me know when you find something concrete.”

And that was that.


	7. Chapter 7

Murphy found out very quickly that the phrase ‘stick to his side like glue’ hadn’t been a metaphor on Bellamy’s part. Wherever Murphy went after that, he had someone from the small group of Sherlock Holmes wannabe’s tailing him. And it was usually the stupid, good-looking, geeky froyo shop owner from across the street.

Murphy started trying to shake him from the get go, ducking into and out of alleys on the very first day Bellamy followed Murphy from his apartment to the coffee shop, causing him to be 30 minutes late. It didn’t work, and when he got to the shop he found it vandalized. Surprisingly, Bellamy helped him out with the graffiti. Murphy didn’t bother thanking him, too pissed off to speak coherently.

He didn’t meed a minder, didn’t need someone watching his back and following him like a damn guard dog. It didn’t help that it was Bellamy fucking Blake, the guy Murphy had been convinced hated him until yesterday.

When Miller showed up at 5am on the nose, Bellamy fist bumped his as Murphy watched, before heading across the street to his damned froyo place and disappeared inside.

“What can I get ya?” As pissed off as Murphy was, he still couldn’t bring himself to be rude to Miller, so the words came out softer than he’d intended.

“Nothing for now, you mind if I just edit photo’s until someone else shows up?” Miller put his bag down on the counter and pulled out a camera and his computer.

“Don’t care, as long as you order something at some point,” Murphy grabbed a cup and made himself a coffee before lighting a cigarette.

“You know those things’ll kill you,” Miller commented absentmindedly as he plugged his camera into the computer.

“Which things?” Murphy took another drag before taking a sip of the coffee, “The coffee or the cigarettes?”

“Both,” Miller grunted out before becoming completely engrossed in his computer.

Murphy smoked in calm silence, the only sound in the shop being the clack of Miller’s keys and the noises his mouse made when the clicked something on the screen. He hadn’t even bothered to turn on the music in the shop today, too late into Outlaw from trying to lose Bellamy less than an hour ago.

Murphy’s quiet anger turned into surprise when the door chimed open and Clarke walked into the store, carrying a bag that looked like it was full of spray paint cans.

“Hey Murphy,” Clarke smiled brightly, crossing the room to put the bag down on a table.

“Mornin’ Clarke,” Miller replied, looking up briefly from his computer before turning back around.

“What are you doing here?” Murphy didn’t feel like being nice to her.

“Bellamy called me, told me about the vandalism. Said I should come by and talk with you, I decided I’d spray paint a mural on your back wall instead.” Clarke pulled out a tarp from the bag and set it on the table before starting to push the wooden tables away from the wall in the back.

“Do I get a choice in this?” Murphy deadpanned. He couldn’t bring himself to care enough to stop her, but he knew Atom wouldn’t like an impromptu artwork in his shop. Murphy should have bought it from him when he had the chance.

“If you were the owner, I would say yes.” Clarke grabbed the tarp and laid it down on the floor in front of the wall, pushing it up against the base. Then she grabbed blue painters tape out of a side pocket in the bag, and started taping the tarp to the floor and wall. “But since you’re not, I guess you don’t.” Yep, Murphy definitely should have bought the shop when he’d had the chance.

“Fine,” Murphy shrugged and walked to the back room to put away his coffee cup, “Just don’t destroy the wall with acid paint.”

“What are you going to paint anyway?” Murphy heard Miller ask as he disappeared into the back room. Murphy didn't care, because if he didn’t end up liking it he could always paint over it. Spend another night sleepless and working.

Murphy put his coffee cup in the sink and leaned against the edge, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

He just needed 5 minutes to himself, 5 minutes without someone following him, without someone talking to him, without someone blaming him for a death. Just 5 minutes where Murphy could be Murphy without someone else telling him who he had to be.

“Murphy?” Miller’s voice cut through the still air in the back room, and the door creaked open. Murphy turned to see him standing there, a frown creasing his face, “Is now a bad time to ask for an expresso?”

“Nope,” Murphy grunted, abandoning the sink to follow Miller back out into the cafe. Murphy slipped behind the counter as Miller sat back down at his computer.

“Anything else with the expresso?” Murphy asked, grabbing a cup and expressly ignoring the noises Clarke was making in the corner as she outlined the mural she was going to make in white chalk.

“Nope, not right now,” Miller looked up at him, staring intently at his face as Murphy made him the expresso, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Murphy scoffed, handing Miller the coffee cup.

“You seem off today, I can’t exactly figure out how though,” Miller pointed out.

“Murphy, can I have a cup of tea?” Clarke interrupted from her place in the back, and Murphy was grateful for the distraction.

“Sure thing Clarke,” Murphy grabbed another cup and pressed the button for tea.

“Murph, seriously,” Miller insisted as Murphy waited for the tea.

“I’m fine Miller, really.” Murphy tried to ignore the thing that was gnawing at his words. He wasn’t really fine, but that was okay. “Clarke, get over here and pay for your tea.” He yells a little too loudly across the shop.

“Isn’t the mural payment enough?” Clarke shoots back, a little snarkily.

“Mural’s don’t pay bills.” Murphy huffs, setting down her tea on the counter, “You wait too long, it’s gonna get cold.” He reminds her before pulling out another cigarette and lighting it.

Miller stares at Murphy as he smokes, his photo editing forgotten in front of him. Clarke comes up and drops a 5 on the counter before grabbing her tea and taking it to the back. Murphy continues to smoke, trying to drown out his thoughts with the chemicals. He felt like it wasn’t working.

“You sure your okay?” Miller asked as he turned back to the computer, and the expresso.

Murphy grunts in response. Miller doesn't make another comment.

Eventually Miller has to leave and Murphy gets bored of silence, so he puts music on. Clarke is still spray-painting in the back, and the occasional customer walks in to order, get their drink to go, and run out the door at a full sprint. Okay, so maybe Murphy was exaggerating, but not by much.

Monty and Jasper show up at about 11, both stoned to high hell and muttering incoherently, but they stayed and kept Murphy ‘company’. Murphy highly doubts that the two of them ordering weird shit and randomly laughing is grounds for company, but he’s not exactly complaining.

Clarke is nowhere near finished with her mural when the lunch rush happens, which doesn’t really count as a lunch rush since only 5 people show up, but one of them is Raven so it counts.

Surprisingly Raven doesn’t sneer at the coffee Murphy presses into her hand and instead heads to the back to keep Clarke company. The other 4 people take their coffee, and assorted pastry, and head out the door, walking a little faster than usual.

Murphy doesn’t talk much that afternoon, at least not from 12-3, since the only person in the cafe is Clarke and he doesn’t really want to strike up a conversation with someone like her, someone all sunshine and rainbows and so different from his hell-life.

So Murphy sits in silence, drinking coffee and smoking until Bellamy Blake walks through the door again at 3, being trailed by a high schooler wearing a lot of eyeliner.

“But Bell, I thought you hated this place,” The girl whines as Bellamy drags her into the cafe.

“O, we’re here to help a friend,” Bellamy responds gruffly, giving Murphy a thin smile.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were talking about me,” Murphy replies with a smirk, “Clarke’s back there painting a mural.” He points to where Clarke is still working, and the table next to her which is piled high with empty plates and coffee cups, “Which reminds me, I have to clean up that table.”

Bellamy just stares a Murphy as he skirts around the counter and starts piling things from Clarke’s table into his arms. Hand appear after a few seconds, grabbing some of the stuff themselves. Murphy turns slightly to see Bellamy helping him. Bellamy gave Murphy a soft smile.

The girl, who Murphy still didn’t know the name of, sat down next to Clarke on the floor and started chatting with her as Murphy led Bellamy to the sinks in the back.

Murphy dropped the coffee cups and plates in the sink gently before turning down the music.

“You want some help?” Bellamy asked, pulling up his sleeves as Murphy turned on the sink and started to wash the cups.

“Are you going to give me an option here?” Murphy spit out harshly. He didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but Bellamy made him edgy.

“It’s just a question Murphy,” Bellamy grabbed a cup and started cleaning it. There was a beat of silence before, “How has your day been?”

“Slower than usual,” Murphy said slowly. He never really thought about things like how his day was going, it usually didn’t cross his mind, “Barely anyone showed up here outside of the people you told to stalk me, so I didn’t have a lot to do.”

The room was silent as they washed the cups and plates. Naturally, Bellamy had to ruin that silence for Murphy.

“The girl I dragged in here is my little sister, Octavia.” Bellamy explained without any prompting, “She’s in high school. I don’t like this place because the owner, Atom, used to pray on high school girls a while back. I never wanted him anywhere near Octavia, so I developed a grudge.”

“That would explain why you hate me,” Murphy grunted.

Bellamy started at his words, “I didn’t hate you-”

“Dude,” Murphy cut him off, “I don’t actually care. Hate me, like me, doesn’t matter. Just order something before you leave and I’m happy.” He shrugged and finished cleaning one of the last cups.

Bellamy finished the rest in silence while Murphy scrolled through his playlist, looking for something appropriate to play. He finally selected a song about killing your ex’s new partner, by a small band from Texas that had split up a few months back, and pressed play.

When he turned back around Murphy was staring at him.

“What’s on your arms?” Bellamy asked bluntly, cringing before restarting, “I mean, what do the tattoo’s mean?” He motioned with his chin to the sleeve on Murphy’s left arm.

“They’re just tattoo’s.” Murphy shrugged, “Nothing special.” He looked down at the sleeve, which extended farther than Bellamy could see, into his shirt, onto both his shoulder blade and chest.

“They must mean something,” Bellamy pressed. Bellamy had a few tattoo’s himself, and they looked like all of them had backstories to tell.

“They mean nothing,” Murphy set his jaw and stalked out of the back room. Bellamy barely knew him, never mind he hated the cafe. Bellamy didn’t get to ask questions about Murphy’s tattoo’s or his past. Bellamy didn’t deserve anything from Murphy.

Although, from the look on Bellamy’s face when he walked out of the back room, Murphy gathered that this was just the beginning of having Bellamy in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there's nothing to do with the murders in this chapter. Hopefully the next chapter will have more about the ongoing investigation. And maybe the return of Sawyer.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm really sorry I haven't updated in awhile. I'm moving and I was finishing school and everything was crazy for a little bit but I'm back now, just as the plot is thickening. Also I know the chapter is short but I'm really stressed rn and it's the best I could do. The next one will be better, promise.
> 
> Hope you guys like the chapter :)

By the end of the week, Murphy was ready to pull out his hair in frustration. The cycle of stalkers had continued, and Murphy had taken to leaving 10 minutes earlier from his house and ducking into the gas station to talk to Miller in order to get Bellamy off his tail.

It didn’t work.

On top of that, Octavia had taken to hanging out in Outlaw when she wasn’t in school, talking with Clarke as she designed the mural on the back wall, chatting up Raven when she came in after her classes, even enchanting Jasper with wild stories about high school parties. Murphy didn’t have a problem with her, per say, but he didn’t like her.

And Sawyer hadn’t shown up in a while. Murphy found himself missing her slightly. She’d been an odd person, but he’d gotten comfortable around her. It didn’t help that she had been fine with him smoking in the cafe, unlike a certain curly haired bastard.

“Murphy, you know those things will kill you.” Bellamy passed the counter and grabbed the cigarette out of Murphy’s mouth, “You should thank me for preventing that.”

“Like hell I’d ever thank you Blake,” Murphy scowled and shook another cigarette out of the pack, lighting it and bringing it up to his mouth, “And don’t fucking touch my cigarettes.”

“Like I said yesterday Murph,” Octavia chuckled and glanced at her brother, “It goes in one ear and out the other with Bell.”

“Don’t fucking care.” Murphy grabbed a cup and started making himself a coffee. “Also, don’t you guys have better things to do than be here?”

Everyone in the cafe, Clarke, Raven, Jasper sans Monty, Octavia, and Bellamy, all looked at him before turning their eyes on each other. Almost in unison, they shrugged, “Not really.”

For the first time since this whole fiasco had started, Murphy was seriously considering murder. No, not just murder, mass murder. But instead of actually killing anyone, Murphy just stopped talking and went back to smoking and drinking coffee.

On Sunday Murphy actually did try to kill someone, Bellamy in fact, when he woke up to find him sitting at the table in his apartment looking through his old english notes from college.

“What the fuck,” Murphy launched himself across the room, and the table, to 1) slam his english notes closed and 2) strangle Bellamy for breaking into his apartment. Neither worked, and Murphy ending up shoving Bellamy, and his notes, to the floor, landing on both of them. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE BLAKE?”

“God Murphy, you don’t have to be so dramatic,” Bellamy shoved him off and sat up, “I’m just reading some of your old notes. I didn’t know you had a degree in English.”

Murphy shoved himself off the floor and started picking up the papers without answering. When Bellamy’s hands appeared to help, he swatted them away.

“Look, I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t know the notes were off limits.”

“I was under the impression that my apartment was off limits Blake.” Murphy said violently, spitting the words out as he bundled the papers in his arms and shoved them back into the box Bellamy had taken them out of.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Bellamy scratched the back of his neck as Murphy sidled around him into the kitchen, “Um, well, there was another murder last night.”

Murphy fumbled with the coffee machine he’d been programming for a second. “What?”

“Yeah, they found a different girl, different hair color, different eye color, behind Outlaw this morning.” Bellamy came and leaned against the wall beside him, “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Murphy continued with the coffee machine, “I thought the police were watching the alley though?”

“They were up until last night. A robbery 2 blocks over needed all the cars in the area, even the stakeout ones.”

“How do you know all of this?” Murphy looked askance.

“Sawyer messaged me at like 4am.” Bellamy looked sheepish, “She says she’s sorry she hasn’t been into the cafe recently, her law studies have just been too much, on top of spending a lot of time down at the police station.”

Murphy frowned but didn’t comment. Instead he grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard and put them on the counter, “You want coffee?”

“Murphy, are you sure your okay?” Bellamy put a hand on his shoulder, his fingers very nearly curling around Murphy’s neck, and turned him so they were chest to chest, “You haven’t yelled at me yet and I’m kind of concerned.”

Murphy stared at Bellamy, trying to come up with a convenient lie that wouldn’t reveal how much he didn’t actually mind Bellamy being around, even if it had been a shock to see him when he first woke up.

Finally, he settled on, “I’m trying to understand how another murder affects me,” before turning back to the coffee pot, which was slowly filling up with dark brown liquid.

“It doesn’t, not really, but Sawyer wanted to make sure you didn’t hear the news from one of the idiot news companies in this town, or on the street.” Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck again. Murphy narrowed his eyes.

“And that justifies breaking into my apartment?”

Bellamy flushed slightly.

“How exactly did you get in anyway?” Murphy pulled the coffee pot away as the machine beeped and filled up both mugs before handing one to Bellamy.

“The fire escape window.” Bellamy pointed to the window in what barely passed as Murphy’s living room, “It was open and I do live in the apartment below you, so…” Bellamy trailed off under Murphy’s gaze.

“Unhuh,” Murphy nodded and took a sip of the coffee. It was bitter and the heat burned the back of his mouth but he liked it that way. Bellamy also took a sip of his and grimaced, but didn’t say anything about Murphy’s coffee habits.

“I didn’t know your tattoo’s extended onto your torso,” Bellamy blurted out after a second. Murphy jerked his eyes up to meet his in surprise.

“Um, what?”

Bellamy pointed to Murphy’s chest, “Your tattoo sleeves. I didn’t realize they extend down to your stomach.”

Murphy looked down and realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He hadn’t been wearing a shirt the entire time Bellamy and him had been talking. He hadn’t been wearing a shirt when he’d launched himself at Bellamy in outrage.

Murphy tried not to convey how embarrassed he was by all those facts and turned back to Bellamy, “My tattoo’s are none of your business Blake. Now, I’m going to go put on a shirt and you are not going to go snooping through my stuff while I’m gone.” Bellamy looked affronted by the sudden burst of rage from Murphy, but nodded slowly.

Murphy put his coffee cup down and moved to his bedroom swiftly. He kept one ear open for Bellamy as he grabbed a shirt at random and pulled it on, before swapping out his PJ pants out for a pair of black jeans. Then he spent 30 seconds trying to calm himself down. Damn it, it was too early in the day for Murphy to deal with Bellamy’s shit, to deal with Bellamy in general. Maybe if Murphy had been awake for more than 30 minutes he might be better equipped to handle Bellamy with his chocolaty eyes and his deep voice, but not right now fucking dammit.

Murphy didn’t realize his 30 seconds had gone on for about 2 minutes until there was a knock on his bedroom doorframe.

“Murphy, you okay?” Bellamy peered into the room to find Murphy standing in the center of it, staring at the wall. At the sound of Bellamy’s voice, Murphy’s head snapped to him.

“I thought I told you not to snoop Blake,” Murphy frowned before he brushed past him back into the kitchen area.

“Murphy, I am trying here,” Bellamy followed, “I can tell somethings wrong. Just tell me what’s bothering you.”

You are. Murphy thought, but didn’t say. You with your perfect words and smile and just everything from our brown curls down to the beat up sneakers on your feet. You’re bothering me.

Murphy didn’t know why he didn’t say all the things he was thinking, but he didn’t. Instead he downed the last of his coffee before turning towards the door.

“Are you going to stalk me to the cafe this morning, or do I get the pleasure of walking by myself this time?”


End file.
